


Pigeon Pie

by capn_hoozits



Series: Sons of the Desert [5]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capn_hoozits/pseuds/capn_hoozits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivier Armstrong hates family reunions and avoids them at all costs. This time, though, she has a secret weapon. Or is he a loose cannon? Lots of Armstrongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**"It doesn't matter what people call you unless they call you pigeon pie and eat you up."** _

**Evelyn Waugh, _Brideshead Revisited_**

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.**

"I really am of two minds about this, dear," Sophia Armstrong said. "I truly understand if you can't bring yourself to come. After all, your Aunt Boudicca is certainly not everyone's cup of tea."

Truer words were never spoken.

Major General Olivier Armstrong could face gunfire, cannon fire, blood, cold steel, and certain death, but the thought of spending the weekend with her more loathsome relatives all grouped together was beyond her limit of what could be endured.

"I suppose Ham and Cheese will be there, too," Olivier remarked as a question.

Sophia let a snicker slip out. "Of course. Your uncle Hamilcar and Aunt Filetta love an audience, each in their own way."

"What about Bella and Seb?"

Sophia sighed. "Unfortunately, your Uncle Sebastian is just getting over pneumonia, and Isabella won't leave him."

Olivier frowned. Her father's youngest sister and her archeologist husband were among the small minority of relatives that she actually liked.

"So as you can imagine," Sophia went on, "since the reunion is on Boudicca's turf this year, she'll have the home court advantage, and I won't have Isabella there to help balance the odds."

Olivier groaned. "And that's why you're calling me," she grumbled.

"Well, dear, as I said, I am of two minds. Yes, of course I want you to come. It's Shua that I'm concerned about."

Olivier bridled. "What do you mean?" she demanded. "He was good enough to get invited to Catherine's debut, wasn't he? He's damn well good enough to show up at Boudicca's dump."

"Olivier, really!" Sophia countered indignantly. "Of _course_ he is! I would love for him to come! He's a darling man and I'm so very fond of him! But Hamalcar and his set could be very unpleasant to him! Some of them were at Catherine's debut and were overheard saying some dreadful things!"

Growing angrier, Olivier stared at the telephone on her desk. "I don't remember anything like that!"

"I'm not surprised. You weren't exactly paying attention that evening. It was your cousin Rupert, actually, and I will not repeat his remark. I believe he came a bit late, after you had surrendered your post as hostess, and he did not stay for long."

Olivier gave a snort. "Then he's lucky I didn't catch him."

"Yes, I rather echo that sentiment. It would have ruined Catherine's evening. As it happens, I was the one who took him quietly aside and told him that if he could not treat my guests with respect he was welcome to find some entertainment elsewhere."

Olivier's eyes widened. "Mother! I'm impressed!"

"Oh, tut, Olivier," Sophia replied dismissively. "I do that sort of thing all the time. The trick is to not let anyone else notice."

"Well, old Rupe was lucky, then. I would have not so quietly taken him aside and not so quietly booted his ass downstairs."

"Which rather validates my point. Suffice to say," Sophia continued, "He and his father and his stepmother will be at the reunion, as well as some of their friends, so dear Shua could easily become a target of some rather nasty remarks. He shouldn't be subjected to that sort of thing."

Olivier glumly sat back in her chair. "So, let me get this straight. You're trying to talk me into going, and you're trying to talk me out of it. Which is it?"

She could hear a rush of air as her mother heaved a sigh. It wasn't the usual mother-inflicted-guilt sort of sigh. It was a genuine dilemma sort of sigh. "I've given you the facts, Olivier, and I've given my views on them. If you can manage it, I would love to see you there, but I truly understand if you refuse. If I could avoid it, I wouldn't go either, but your father's feelings would be hurt. He looks up to his older sister—"

"Literally," Olivier remarked. Boudicca was one of the tall Armstrongs.

Sophia cleared her throat. "And as you know, his family is terribly important to him. Plus," she added, and Olivier could picture her gathering herself up in determination, "I will not be cowed by that…" She struggled for a moment to find an appropriate, yet tasteful epithet.

"Cow?" suggested Olivier, who leaned more on the side of calling it as she saw it.

Her mother snickered. "Really, Olivier!"

**~.~.~.~.~.~.~.**

_Of course we'll go! Just try to stop me!_

With those fateful words still ringing in her ears, Olivier found herself on the train heading to West City. She gazed morosely out the window at the fall foliage, which was probably very pretty, but which was lost on her. Too much color. She liked more stark landscapes.

Her mood was not lost on her traveling companion, and Shua leaned closer to her, brushing her hair away from her ear and bringing his lips close to it.

"Where's my warrior queen, eh?"

Warm little fingers tickled up and down her spine and a smile pulled at her lips. "She's trying to come up with a strategy for infiltrating the enemy's territory."

Shua chuckled. "Infiltrate? Bugger that. I intend to make an entrance." He put his arm around her and gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze. "Oh, Ollie! Ollie- _laleh_! Don't let 'em scare you!"

"I'm not scared!" Olivier snapped back defensively. "I just—" She had to pause. She had never admitted this to anyone else, but Shua wasn't just anyone else. He wasn't one of those society people and he wasn't military. He was in a class by himself. He was her husband, lover, and friend, and he was the first real confidant that she'd ever had. Her voice quieted, almost as if she didn't want to be overheard. "I don't know how to play their games."

"What? Bridge? Well, you need four people, and a table and some cards. But I wouldn't bother. It's boring as hell."

"No, you idiot!" Olivier growled in exasperation. "I'm trying to be serious! I'm talking about all the gossiping and the backstabbing and the insults underneath this…" She scowled as she struggled for the right word. "…this veneer of politeness and…and etiquette! It's so pointless! But they're my family so I can't run them through with my saber or beat the crap out of them!"

"You've beaten up Alex before."

Olivier waved her hand impatiently. "Just keeping him on his toes. And he can give as good as he gets, most of the time." She breathed out a gloomy huff of air. "I know combat. I know rules of engagement. I know which ones to stick to and I know which ones to break. But that bunch, they…they make me freeze up. I never know what to say to them to get them to shut up. Needless to say, I haven't been to one of these things in several years."

" _Eh-h!_ " Shua squeezed her shoulders and kissed her soundly on the cheek. "Listen here, love. I've had to fight my way out of my share of tight corners, but there are quite a few others that I've _talked_ my way out of." He gave another chuckle, warm with mischievous purpose. "You and I are going to roll into this shindy like the shiniest, brassiest pair of balls these folks have ever seen! Come on now!" he cajoled. "It'll be fun!"

Olivier sighed. "Shua, you don't know these people. I tried to warn you when we talked on the phone, but you got so excited that I never got the chance."

"Ha!" Shua smirked. "I didn't just come in on the last caravan, you know. Your ma has told me about her in-laws before. Usually over a cup of Xingese tea." He stretched his long legs out comfortably. "Right. Top of the list is your Auntie Boudicca, your pa's older sister, the first born. Married some rich fellow, a steel magnate, and set up her own little empire out west. Had a couple of lethally boring daughters, your cousins, Agrippina and Lucretia. Husband had a heart attack and left her stinking rich. The worst snob I could possibly imagine, according to your ma. Spends so much time looking down her nose at people that she's cross-eyed."

Olivier raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed. Mother told you all that?"

"Not in so many words. I…uh…extrapolated." Shua nudged her. "There's a two-cenz word for you there."

"Yes, you're very erudite. Boudicca will treat you like dirt."

"Look, my own people treated me like dirt, once upon a time," Shua replied easily. "Then they voted me into Parliament. You know why?"

"My understanding was that your beloved _khorovar_ made them do it."

Shua looked indignant. "My auntie's goat, he did! That's an ugly rumor and a burning untruth! Shame on you! I made them all love me, is what I did!"

Olivier let out a quiet snicker. "Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"Anyway, up next is your Uncle Hamalcar, your pa's younger brother. In charge of Western Command. A simple soldier, so he claims, although he's a full general and full of himself. Head's so firmly rammed up his ass it's a wonder they were able to find his shoulders to give him those extra stars."

"You extrapolated that, too?"

"Uh-huh. He was stationed in Ishval once upon a time." Shua thought for a moment. "Maybe we rubbed shoulders." He grinned. "Maybe he ended up at Vashto's tavern once or twice."

"Do you think so?" Olivier asked, intrigued.

"It's entirely possible. Ishval was, and is, a dry, hot place, and it was a lot lonelier for your average bluecoat back then. I should ask him."

That was daring, even to Olivier. But she'd love to be there when it happened. Maybe. "He hates Ishvalans, you know. Did Mother tell you that?"

Shua nodded. "Oh, sure. She told me that I would not find him an agreeable acquaintance, which is your ma's nice way of saying he's a yaakhtai."

"You won't care much for his son, either."

"Rupert?"

"Uh-huh." Olivier scowled. "I hate that man! I always have. He used to pick on Alex when we were little. I told him I was the only one allowed to do that, and then I punched him in the mouth." Her frown turned to a grim smile and she tapped her cheek. "Knocked out one of his baby teeth."

"You rascal."

Olivier chuckled. "Getting sent to my room with no supper was a small price to pay, especially since my mother came up later with a sandwich." She looked out at the passing scenery, but was contemplating her memory. "She told me that what I had done was wrong and unladylike"—she gave a brief roll of her eyes—"but she was proud of me for defending Alex."

"Even though you've probably popped your brother in the kisser once or twice."

"Yeah, well…" Olivier shrugged. "I don't think that was really Mother's motive. She can't stand Hamalcar or his family, either, but she probably didn't want to send me the wrong message."

"She's a very wise woman, your ma," Shua observed.

"She's fond of you, too."

"Of course she is. Now, that leaves your pa's baby sister, Isabella."

"Who won't be there," Olivier said. "Which is tough luck because she's all right. Her husband, who is also a decent sort, is sick."

"Or she says he is so she has an excuse not to come."

"No, she wouldn't do that. Normally she and Mother team up to keep each other from going crazy at these affairs."

"She's got a couple of kids, too, doesn't she?"

"Simonedes and Dorothea. They're—"

"What is it with these names?" Shua remarked suddenly.

Olivier rolled her eyes. "A tradition that's been handed down through generations of the Armstrong family," she droned.

"Oh. Right. Stupid question. Go on."

"Anyway, I haven't seen Sim and Dot for several years. They were just goofy teenagers," Olivier said dismissively. "Catherine's closer to them. They'll probably be somewhere else, being goofy."

Shua nodded and put on a thoughtful look. "Let's see now. Am I forgetting anybody?"

"Aunt Filetta," Olivier replied in a slightly ominous tone.

"Oh, right! Your uncle's second wife."

"I call 'em Ham and Cheese because Filetta's maiden name was Wensleydale," Olivier said, then added, "Only to my mother, though. Father would be offended."

"He has a real soft spot for his siblings."

"More like a blind spot."

"Your pa's a fine old fellow, Ishvala bless him." Shua shook his head fondly. "That's the most amazing beard I've ever seen. So," he went on. "Filetta. A bored socialite."

"A most dangerous creature, as my mother would say," Olivier added.

"Takes all kinds," Shua observed. "Since Ham wore out his first wife, he plucked his second strictly for youth and looks. She accepted strictly for money. A pretty convenient arrangement, I suppose."

"Hm." Olivier nodded thoughtfully. "Sort of an unknown quantity. I met her once and that was just in passing."

"She doesn't say much, according to your ma. Sits there looking stunningly glamorous and bored. Makes your ma nervous, which takes some doing. Uncle Ham likes to show her off, but that seems to be as far as his regard for her goes." He frowned a little, turning somber for a moment. "There's no love there at all. How can anybody live like that?"

"Because they have a twisted idea of what's important."

"You have to keep it simple." Shua drew her into his arms. "Love, good food, a roof over your head, and an all-wise Creator to keep an eye on your sorry ass," he declared.

Olivier chuckled softly. "I suppose so."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking that this story has the makings of a classic English country house murder mystery. Lots of motive and suspects. Lord Peter Wimsey crossover. No. Not going there. At least, I don't think so...

His backside had occupied the seat for Ishval in the hallowed halls of the Amestrian Parliament for nigh on two years now.

It was a little hard at first. He certainly attracted attention, and it wasn't always polite curiosity. He overheard remarks, some murmured, some he was meant to hear. A few times, having visited a shop, the clerk rather pointedly set his change on the counter rather than place it in his hand. He was even refused service in a restaurant once. There had been plenty of available tables, but they were all apparently "reserved." In a lot of ways, the capital city of Amestris was a backwards place, but it had finally gotten used to him and accepted him as one of their own. Here in the west, where people considered themselves cultured because they were farther removed from those eastern types, that wasn't quite the case.

But he was nothing if not a survivor. He had been acknowledged and chosen by his own people, and that was what really mattered. Ishval had finally been granted the right of representation, and by Ishvala, he was going to represent. If anyone didn't like it, he could tell them where to find plenty of sand to pound up their asses.

He towered over the butler who was filling up the doorway.

"Run that one by me again, sonny?"

The butler drew himself up like an affronted pug. "I _said_ the trade entrance is in the back."

Shua nodded. "That's what I thought." He cocked his head and leaned casually against the doorframe. "Now what, in all of Ishvala's vast creation, would I—in my best coat, mind you—need the trade entrance for?"

The butler sniffed, apparently not having much of an opinion about Shua's best coat and even less of the musical instruments he had slung on his back. "We've already hired entertainment. And if you're looking for a handout, you're not likely to get it at the front door." His lip curled. "You're not likely to get one at the back door, either, so I suggest you take yourself off the property before I call a couple of the groundskeepers to toss you off. We're busy today. The mistress is having guests."

"Oh, good!" Shua exclaimed brightly. He shoved the butler to one side and strode through the door. "Then I've come to the right place!"

The butler sputtered with rage as he regained his balance. "You—you—you're in for it now! I'm calling the—"

"Shua! Wait up!" Olivier came up the steps and through the door, having stayed behind a moment to pay the taxi driver.

The butler spun toward her and stared at her. She was in uniform and she was unmistakably an Armstrong, but she probably hadn't been to this place for years. The butler shuddered, managing to finally put two and two together and getting something close to four. "Uh…uh…General Armstrong?" he managed weakly.

"Huh. Good guess!" She regarded him blankly for a moment. "Whatever your name is."

"Aldridge, miss." He stabbed a finger in Shua's direction. "I'm trying to evict this brazen Ishvalan! He just barged right in!"

Shua, who had been admiring a large vase on a pedestal, turned toward her with a mischievous grin, which she returned. "He's brazen, all right." Olivier gave the butler an austere look. "Are my parents here yet?"

The butler sputtered a little more. On the one hand, he was still trying to place her amongst all the other blond, blue-eyed guests (they certainly all looked alike to Shua) On the other hand, he was trying to come up with a remedy for his sudden Ishvalan infestation. "Everyone—uh—everyone's in the garden, Miss."

"Fine. By the way," Olivier announced, stepping up to Shua and linking her arm through his. "This is my husband, Shua, the Honorable Member of Parliament for Ishval."

Shua smiled down at the pale gold gleam of her hair. She sounded so proud, Ishvala bless her!

Aldridge stared, his eyes bulging just a little more, and he wilted just a little. "A…a pleasure…sir…"

"Pleasure's all mine," Shua said, tapping a two-fingered salute to his forehead. "Tell me. Where can a fellow get a drop to drink around here? I'm parched as a _jhavahal_ on a hot rock in June!"

Aldridge composed himself and expanded his chest. With his arms straight down at his sides, he started forward, walking with a slightly splayfooted step but without moving his upper body. "Walk this way," he hissed.

Shua watched him as he passed. "If I could walk that way, I—"

Olivier elbowed him. "Shh!"

As they followed Aldridge, Shua gazed around at the wide entryway that opened up into a vast central hall.

"What a barn!" he remarked under his breath. Why he spoke under his breath he didn't know. This place certainly had an intimidating air about it. It sort of felt like a museum. What it did not feel like was a home, nor did it feel welcoming. He got the feeling that Olivier was getting the same feeling, despite having grown up in an enormous mansion where, he knew for a fact, she and her siblings did a lot of sliding down the banisters. At the moment, though, her grip on the crook of his elbow was tightening, like she was clinging to him. She never did that.

He pressed his hand over hers. "It'll be all right, _laleh_ ," he said softly. "We'll take 'em all on."

Olivier glanced up at him a little wryly but with an underlying tension in her eyes. "Give no quarter."

Shua grinned back at her. "Take no prisoners!"

They were led through an equally enormous drawing room and out through a set of glass double doors. They came out onto a terrace that overlooked a wide lawn surrounded by an ornamental garden with a tall hedge beyond it. Out on the lawn was an arrangement of canopies that covered tables and chairs. A large number of guests were congregating in groups and were being waited on by the household staff carrying trays of refreshments.

The group closest to the terrace was made up of the Central City Armstrongs, and Catherine was to first to catch sight of them.

She waved. "Ollie! Shua!"

Shua could practically feel Olivier cringe, but she quickly steered him toward her family group. Sophia stepped forward to greet them.

"There you are, my dears!" she breathed with relief.

Olivier submitted to a kiss on the cheek, then had to go through the rest of the family. Shua greeted them a little more enthusiastically.

"Hello, Sophie!" he exclaimed, kissing her on both cheeks. "Alex!" He pumped his brother-in-law's hand. "Where's Phil?"

"He's over talking to my aunt Boudicca and Uncle Hamalcar." Alex pulled Shua closer as he shook his hand and fixed him with an intent look. "Tough customers," he rumbled in an undertone. "You'll need to stay on your toes."

Shua gave him an affectionate punch in the arm. "Don't worry about me, Alex. I'm ready for anything." He turned to beam at Amue and Strongine, who both bent down to kiss him. "And don't you girls look lovely!"

"We're so glad you came, Shua!" Amue sighed, grabbing his hand and clutching it.

"Has anyone been awful to you?" Strongine demanded anxiously, pressing his other hand.

Shua just shrugged. "Ah, no worries!" he assured her.

"What does that mean?" Sophia asked suspiciously.

"Just a little misstep at the door," Shua replied easily. "But it all got sorted out."

Before Sophia could inquire further, Shua caught sight of three unfamiliar faces that had been previously blocked from view by Amue and Strongine. There was a young woman and two young men, both in second lieutenant uniforms. On seeing Olivier, they both snapped a salute. Catherine stepped forward quickly and indicated the young woman and the first young man. The young man looked fairly typically Armstrongish. The girl had slightly darker coloring with light brown hair and big brown eyes. "Shua, these are my cousins, Simonedes and Dorothea McNeese."

Simonedes held out his hand. "Just Sim, actually." He grinned pleasantly. "Otherwise we'll be here all week. A pleasure to meet you, sir."

Shua shook his hand. "Likewise. And you can drop the 'sir'. We're family, after all."

Sim then turned to Olivier with a grin, a little unsure of whether to shake her hand, kiss her, or just salute her again. "Good to see you again!"

Olivier considered him coolly but with a measure of approval, probably because of the uniform. "Yes, it's been a while."

"Hello, General!" The young woman exclaimed brightly, giving Olivier a friendly wave. She then thrust out her hand at Shua. "Golly, it's so nice to finally meet you!" she gushed. "Just call me Dot!"

Shua smiled at her as he took her hand. "I'll do that."

"We're here to represent Mom and Dad," Dot explained. With a little impish grin and in an ominous tone she added, "Dad's just getting over some horrible curse he picked up from delving too deep into some ancient king's burial mound."

Sim rolled his eyes. "It was just pneumonia," he told Shua, nudging his sister, who giggled. "Dad's an archeologist, you see."

"I'm going to be one, too!" Dot announced. "I'm a freshman at East City U." She gave a little shrug. "I'm sort of studying alchemy on the side, but it's not exactly—" She suddenly looked horrified, staring abjectly at Shua. "Oh, _golly_!" she gasped. "I'm so awfully sorry! You probably think that's dreadful!"

"Not at all, love," Shua told her easily, already deciding that he liked this pair of siblings rather a lot. "In the right hands, alchemy's done some good."

"Oh, I'd do all sorts of good!" Dot assured him. "I just don't know what yet. That's why I figured I'd study archeology, too." Her spirits restored, her eyes widened again, this time with excitement. "Oh! Dad's heard that there's some lovely ancient ruins in Ishval! Are you going to dig them up?"

"Well, not me, personally," Shua replied. "I'm not sure anyone's going to. There's been some talk about it, but there are a lot of folk who feel it ought to be left untouched."

"Oh." Dot looked disappointed. "Well, Dad's awfully respectful of other people's ruins."

Shua gave a quiet laugh. "I'll pass that on next time I go home."

"And this," Catherine went on with a somewhat shy reserve, indicating the other young man, who had been waiting with solemn patience, "is Second Lieutenant Galahad Brodnax-Fitzgeoffrey. Galahad, this is my sister, Major General Olivier Armstrong, and my brother-in-law, Shua."

The other young man stood as tall as Shua. He had raven black hair, deep blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a regal mien. He clicked his heels and gave a slight bow. "I'm deeply honored to meet you, General Armstrong!" Turning to Shua, he bowed again and held out his hand. "And you as well, sir! A great honor!"

"Well, that's grand!" Shua considered him as he shook his hand. "Am I related to you somehow?"

A wistful little smile flickered on the young man's lips for a moment. "No, sir," he replied. "Sim and I went through the military academy together and he was kind enough to invite me."

"I see. I don't suppose there's a short version of your name anywhere?" Shua asked.

Galahad smiled back, a little self-consciously. "I haven't been able to come up with anything."

"We tried," Sim explained, clapping Galahad on the back. "Nothing seemed to fit."

Sophia came up alongside them. She drew in a deep breath. "Olivier, Shua, you should go and greet Aunt Boudicca."

Dot looked grave. "Good luck," she said. "We've had our audience already. It was sort of like waiting to get your shots."

Her brother nudged her. "Let's hope Auntie's had her shots." The two snickered.

Sophia gave her a mildly reproving look. "Now, now, my dears. That's not the proper attitude."

"It works for me." Olivier put on a sour face. "Can't we just avoid her completely?"

"No, dear. You can't. She is your aunt and she is your hostess and you must thank her for her hospitality."

"I'm not grateful."

"Neither am I, but it must be done."

"Come on, _laleh_. Best to get it over with." Shua hooked his thumb under the straps of his fiddle and lute cases. Pulling them off over his head, he handed them to Galahad. "You look trustworthy. Guard these with your life."

Galahad took hold of the instruments. "Of course."

Shua held his hand out to Olivier. "Like I said, we're making an entrance with our heads held high." He gave her an arch look. "Vipers can sense fear, you know."

"I'll come with you," Sophia said. She beckoned for them to follow her. "Come along, then."

Olivier let out an irritated huff as she followed her mother. "I'm not a child," she growled.

"Then don't sulk," Sophia replied over her shoulder. "And stand up straight."

Shua hid a grin as Olivier pulled her shoulders back. "Tell me, Sophie," he said. "That fine specimen of Amestrian manhood back there. Is he real?"

"Galahad? Oh, yes." Sophia let out a little sigh. "He's been trying to catch Catherine's interest for nearly a year."

Olivier looked surprised. "Doesn't seem like he'd need to try all that hard."

"Well, you know how particular Catherine is."

"She wants someone who's built like Alex?" Olivier snorted. "Galahad looks pretty solid to me."

"He wasn't quite so solid when we first met him," Sophia said. "From what Sim has told me, the poor fellow has been desperately building himself up to impress your sister."

"Well, I'm impressed," Shua remarked. "But I'm spoken for."

Sophia led them toward one of the canopied areas where there was a small crowd of people milling about holding teacups or tall flute glasses of mimosas. At the center of this particular tableau sat a lady who was not necessarily elderly, not like _baata_ Zulee, who wore her wrinkles with pride, but she was getting close. She reminded Shua of the mother of the favorite for the Xingese throne, Ling Yao. Dao-Ming Yao was not a woman you crossed. Aunt Boudicca was cut from the same cloth. She occupied the white wooden folding chair like a dowager empress in worsted wool, holding court. Two women who seemed to take after her were hovering behind her, accompanied by a pair of bland gentlemen who looked terminally bored.

Eyes turned and eyebrows arched as they approached. Out of the corner of his eye, Shua could see Olivier putting on her battle face.

"Boudicca," Sophia began, "you remember Olivier, don't you? It's been rather a while."

The older woman lifted a silver lorgnette on a black satin ribbon and peered through it. "Of course, I remember!" she huffed. "I have an excellent memory. I remember how sullen the girl was. Tuh!" the woman practicaly barked. "Looks like she hasn't changed much!"

 _Oh sweet Ishvala! What a charmer!_ Shua thought. Olivier stiffened next to him, helpless. "Good morning, Aunt Boudicca," she replied, or mumbled, more like.

"Tuh!" Boudicca turned her lenses to peer at Shua, her lips curving down even more, if that were possible. "And who, dare I ask, might you be?" she wanted to know, as distasteful as she might find the answer.

Sophia, as smooth as cream, but probably turning to curds inside, started to say, "This is—"

 _Oh, bugger this! "Ishvala nadreh ho'avaat!_ " Shua bent at the waist with a sweeping bow. " _Ho'avaat si waleh_!" He straightened and put on a dazzling smile. "Shua's the name, Auntie. Just Shua. No more, no less. That's a nice vase you've got by the door in there. Not quite Xingese, but not bad. I can get you a fine piece of Ishvalan redware at a decent price, if you're interested. You know," he added with a broad wink, "seeing as you're family."

It got really quiet. Boudicca stared at the lanky Ishvalan through her lorgnette, possibly wondering if the lenses were playing tricks on her. Sophia softly cleared her throat. "Boudicca, this is my son-in-law, Olivier's husband."

"Tuh!" Boudicca's eyes narrowed a little. "Yes. So I heard," she said in a tone that suggested she had filed the incident firmly away under _family scandal_. She looked back and forth at Olivier and Shua. "Well! There it is," she pronounced finally, letting her lorgnette, as well as the conversation, drop with finality. She waved at the closest servant. "Tea."

"Let's go find your father, dear," Sophia prompted, her voice untroubled but with an underlying firmness. "Will you excuse us, Boudicca?" she added pleasantly.

"Nice to meet you, Auntie!" Shua said with a wave to Boudicca, which she did not return. He began to move away but Olivier seemed to be frozen to the spot. He took her elbow, gently pulling on it, and led her off to fall in with Sophia.

When they had gotten a safe distance away, Sophia whispered quickly, "I'm so dreadfully sorry! I keep hoping she'll mellow with age, but she never does."

"It's hardly your fault, Sophie," Shua replied easily. "You warned me."

"How can Father possibly be fond of her?" Olivier hissed. Up until now her lips had been compressed to a tight line. Which was a shame, as far as Shua was concerned. She had such nice lips.

"I think fond may not be the right term," Sophia said. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what the right term would be." She shrugged. "Blood is thicker than water, I suppose." She looked up at Shua. "What was it you said to her? Was it something rude in disguise?" She sounded like she rather hoped it was.

"Not at all!" Shua replied. "It's a proper Ishvalan greeting. 'May Ishvala grant you many years,' and I followed it up with 'many years indeed.'" He smirked. "Just not too many."

Sophia gave him a light, reproving tap on the wrist. "Now, now, dear," she murmured. But she smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Phillip Armstrong** and his siblings, in order of birth, plus spouses  & children (not all of whom are appearing in this fic):
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **Boudicca Brunhilda** : married to Sherman Ulysses Lafayette (deceased), mother of: **Agrippina** and **Lucretia**
> 
>  **Phillip Gargantos** : married to **Sophia Mathilde Catherine Rosamunda** (whose children we are acquainted with)
> 
>  **Hamilcar Hannibal** : father of **Rupert**. First wife deceased, currently married to **Filetta** (nee Wensleydale)
> 
>  **Isabella Bianca** : married to **Sebastian NcNeese** , mother to **Simonedes (Sim)** and **Dorothea (Dot)**
> 
>  
> 
> Other family members/characters:
> 
>  
> 
>  **Oswald and Priscilla Armstrong-Zimmerman** : parents to **Ignatz** or just **Iggy**.
> 
>  **Galahad Brodnax-Fitzgeoffrey** : friend of Simonedes

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"These affairs have gotten just a little out of hand," Sophia remarked as they strolled across the lawn. Once she had gotten her dear ones out of Boudicca's clutches, there wasn't so much of a hurry. For Shua's sake, she explained, "We have these reunions every other year. It was Phillip's idea, originally. He had a…somewhat unhappy childhood and as a result, he likes to keep his ties with his siblings strong. These reunions were meant to be simple get-togethers, just family, and everyone would take a turn at hosting. Then people started inviting their friends—Boudicca and Hamilcar, mainly—although I'm rather glad that Sim invited Galahad. He's a very nice young man and he comes from a rather poor family and it wasn't until he entered the academy that he was able to get really regular meals. He won't tell you that, but Sim managed to find it out." Sophia waved a hand at the surrounding gold-trimmed canopies and army of servants. "As you can see, the trappings are a bit more elaborate than they need to be."

"You're guilty of that sometimes, Mother," Olivier remarked.

"Perhaps," Sophia replied with a little smile. "But at least I make my guests feel welcome."

"That you do, Sophie," Shua agreed.

"Thank you, dear." Sophia stopped. Up ahead she spotted her husband having an animated conversation with his younger brother. Hamilcar was rather taller than Phillip and he did look rather dashing in his uniform. But it was a superficial quality. Underneath that uniform beat a heart of stone, if it beat at all. Her nephew, Rupert, also in uniform _(he's a lieutenant colonel now, is he? Quite the distinguished career for an office clerk!)_ , stood nearby, looking sullen _(it's all right for him, isn't it. How tiresome.)_

She let out another sigh. "I really don't want to subject you both to Hamilcar's charms, not right after inflicting you with Boudicca."

"It's all right, Sophie," Shua said. "It might be interesting."

"No it won't," Olivier countered in a mumble.

Sophia considered the two of them. She loved them both dearly, for different reasons. She was so immensely proud of her daughter. Olivier was probably one of the strongest women she knew. But with that strength came a certain brittleness, rather like glass. Olivier had to maintain that strength against heavy odds, and she was seldom willing or able to relax enough to be emotionally resilient. Then Shua came along, swept Olivier off her feet, so to speak, and gave her just what she needed—someone who would make sure she wouldn't break if she allowed herself to bend. Sophia would be forever grateful to Shua for that. She had to admit, though, that she found him personally charming, and if she had been many years younger and more adventurous and unattached…well, Phillip was a darling, as well. She had nothing to complain about.

At any rate, if Olivier failed to intimidate him, no one could. She patted Shua's cheek. "You're a valiant man, my dear. Perhaps it would—"

"Hello! Hello!" A young man with persistently unruly red hair seemingly popped up out of nowhere and bounced up to them.

Sophia turned to him, rather fondly. "Why, Ignatz! I didn't know you'd be here! Are your parents here?"

"Oh, quite! Wouldn't miss out on a nosh with the tribe!" the young man bubbled. He turned to Shua. "Oh, I say! Positively ripping to see you, old thing!" he declared, snatching his hand and pumping it. "How goes the…uh…you know…Parliament and all that?"

Ignatz, or Iggy, as his younger relations called him—it rather suited him better—was a very sweet idiot and a breath of fresh air in a place like this. Sophia glanced at Olivier, who was probably the least tolerant of his cousins, but even she seemed to appreciate Iggy's affability after what she had just been through.

Though not in uniform and probably not even remotely eligible for military service, Iggy gave Olivier a salute. "What ho, General!" he exclaimed. "How are things up in the chilly, chilly north?"

Olivier begrudged him a smile. "Chilly."

Iggy chuckled. "Thought so." His eyebrows went up. "I say! Did you bring your dashing Ishvalan officer? Mayles? No, no!" he added quickly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "I had it a moment ago. I even came up with one of those thingies." His eyes flew open triumphantly. "Miles! As in miles and miles to go, 'cause there's two of them, don't y'know! His pretty wife, don't y'know! Are they here?"

"No, sorry, Iggy," Olivier replied. "I would never have made Miles suffer through one of these things, and certainly not his wife. Shua came because he can't resist a challenge."

"Oh, I see! How very sporting!" Iggy actually sobered for a moment and lowered his voice. "I say, has old Ham been beastly?" He quickly covered his mouth and spoke through his fingers. "Sorry! Perhaps I shouldn't say that. Kith and kin and all that."

"Don't worry about it," Olivier replied. "Beastly is probably putting it mildly. I sure won't tell on you."

Iggy grinned and winked. "Mum's the word, eh? Speaking of Mum, I'd better check back in with the parental figures. Come and have a chinwag!" He waved and bobbed away. Sophia followed his progress for a few moments, just to make sure he didn't walk into something. But then her attention was drawn away.

"Sophia, my dear!" Phillip called out and beckoned to her from where he stood with his brother.

Sophia's heart sank a little as she waved back. Dear, dear, lionhearted Phillip. So eager about his family, but ever so slightly misguided about them. "Well, there's nothing for it now," she murmured. She turned to Shua. "I really don't know how to warn you, my dear. Your very charming spontaneity will fall on unappreciative ears and will not stand you in good stead." She smiled a little. "But lay it on as thick as you like."

Shua glanced past her at Hamilcar, who was already glowering at them, his nostrils flaring. Shua gave a little shrug, not half as concerned as he ought to be. "Well, let's get the measure of him first."

As they drew closer, Phillip beamed at them. Hamilcar did not. His glower only grew worse. Olivier's expression had frozen into stone, poor dear. She put up her chin and sallied forth with the look of a warrior going into a battle she had little hope of winning. Well, she hadn't reached her rank by standing around looking pretty.

Shua, on the other hand, had what could be described as an unwholesome smile on his face, as if anticipating something agreeable. If Sophia didn't know him better, she would think he had no idea of what was going on. But she knew him better. She wondered if she should be nervous.

Hamilcar hadn't changed much at all over the years, aside from a bit of fleshy heaviness around the face and a little bagginess around the eyes. He even wore his hair the same way as when Sophia first met him. He had managed to tame the Armstrong cowlick, not by having billowing long locks like Olivier, but by the liberal use of pomade. His hair sort of swooped up over his forehead and glittered with greasy scented wax.

Rupert was the spitting image of his father, apart from being a bit slimmer and a little fresher. That did not count in his favor. They both had the same look of distaste as Sophia and her charges approached.

Olivier looked like she would rather have her hand smashed with a hammer than salute her uncle, but she observed the formalities.

"General!" she greeted him in that hard, uncompromising tone she often used. She briefly acknowledged her cousin's salute, murmuring, "Lt. Colonel." There was a momentary narrowing of the eyes between the two of them. Well, that was to be expected.

Hamilcar gave a noncommittal sort of grunt in reply to Olivier's greeting. Typical. He then regarded Shua with suspicion and contempt. Sophia would have liked nothing better than to give him a sharp kick in the shin. But she was a lady of refinement. She drew herself up, a silent monument that radiated disapproval. She was good at that. It was not a skill she learned in finishing school. There she learned what was proper. With age and experience, she had learned what was right.

Phillip was either entirely clueless or he was just pretending to be. "Ah, Olivier, my dear!" He stepped up to his daughter and planted a kiss on her cheek. "And Shua!" He turned to his son-in-law and pumped his hand. "Delighted you could attend! Delighted!"

Hamilcar was clearly not of the same opinion, but Phillip turned to him anyway. "Hamilcar, let me introduce you to Olivier's husband! Shua, this is my younger brother, General Hamilcar Hannibal Armstrong, commander of the West City forces! Hamilcar, this is Shua, the Honorable Member of Parliament for Ishval!"

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, General!" Shua held out his hand, knowing full well that if he had baited it with a lump of finely roasted beef dripping with juices, Hamilcar wouldn't even sniff at it.

Hamilcar drew himself up and coldly considered Shua as he would something that had been dredged up from the sewer. "Hm!" he grunted. "Never thought I'd see the day!"

Rupert gave much the same sort of response when introduced, not that anyone really cared. Hamilcar then turned to Sophia, honoring her with a rigid little bow. "If you will excuse me, ma'am!" He did an abrupt about face and strode off, his son and familiar keeping step at his elbow.

Phillip scowled just a little. "Well, that wasn't so bad, after all."

Sophia sighed. She patted her husband on the shoulder. "Just as you say, dear."

"Well, then!" Phillip turned to his family, his spirits restored. He clapped his hands together. "I think I shall partake of a few more of those cheese scones that have been making the rounds! Come and join me!"

Sophia smiled at him fondly. At the moment, she could think of few things she'd rather do, considering how they were stuck here. "Of course, my dear. We'll follow you up."

"Splendid! Splendid!" Phillip bustled off toward the tea tent.

Sophia glanced at her daughter. "You can breathe now, Olivier. And you might want to do something about that vein bulging in your forehead. I can't imagine that it's healthy."

Olivier released a lungful of air, her glower smoldering. "If that man wasn't Father's brother," she growled in a whisper that trembled with rage. "I'd—"

"Yes, Olivier, I quite understand, but he is, so you can't," Sophia finished for her wearily.

Shua, on the other hand, seemed in just as good spirits as Phillip. He gathered Olivier and Sophia close on either side in an affectionate hug. "I knew it!" he said with a satisfied chuckle.

"Knew what?" Olivier grumbled.

"I'd recognize that gleaming cockscomb anywhere!"

Olivier's expression sharpened to surprised interest. "Really? Are you sure?"

Sophia looked at them both, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"Old Vashto's tavern was never brightly lit," Shua began, moving them along to follow Phillip. "The back rooms were even dimmer. The Ishvalans who ventured in kept to the darker corners."

"I'm feeling rather in the dark myself, dear," Sophia remarked.

Shua went on. "The bluecoats came and went like they owned the place, just like the rest of Ishval." He put on a thoughtful look. "He was a lieutenant colonel back then, I think."

"Who are you—" Sophia drew in a quick breath. "Do you mean Hamilcar? Do you remember him from when he was stationed in Ishval?"

"I do, love, I do!" Shua replied. "I was a hollow-eyed scarecrow back then, and Uncle Ham doesn't seem the type to notice the poverty-stricken, Ishvalan or otherwise. It's no wonder he didn't recognize me." That unwholesome smile returned. "But before this day is over, he will."


	4. Chapter 4

As they continued on their way, Sophia laid her hand on Shua's arm. "I really would rather Phillip didn't hear certain aspects about Hamilcar's past."

Shua raised an eyebrow. "Surely they've traded stories about their exploits."

"Well, yes, they did, but not the ones _off_ the battlefield, if you take my meaning," Sophia replied. "You see, as the older brother, Phillip felt the need to set an example for Hamilcar to maintain his military career without any stain of reproach. He feels that this example is what has helped Hamilcar rise to the position he now enjoys." She looked up gravely at Shua. "He's quite proud of his brother. For him to learn otherwise would hurt him deeply. Promise me you won't say anything."

"I promise!" Shua assured her with a grin. "I'm not interested in laying Ham's backside bare." His grin broadened. "But I'd sure like to see him squirm a little."

Olivier sighed to herself. As grotesque a sight as her uncle's bare backside would be, it could probably use some airing. But Father took precedence. He was a good man, and Hamilcar obviously failed to follow the examples he should have.

They reached the tea tent, a white thing with gold braid and tassels and little pennants that made it look like something from a cheesy yet high-priced renaissance fair. Under this, a sumptuous brunch buffet had been laid out. Sophia went to join Phillip, who was sitting before a plate of cheese scones. Shua stood back to admire the offerings set out on the buffet table. "That's pretty lavish, I have to say," he remarked. "To lay out such a festive board, you'd think your auntie would be a little more…well…festive."

"She's just showing off," Olivier mumbled. "Wait until you see dinner. You could feed Ishval for a week on what she serves up."

Shua was going to remark on that being an exaggeration, especially since he could pack it away pretty handily, but he got the idea. "Tell me something. How did your folks turn out all right and your aunt and uncle turn out so bent? It's like they were raised by different people."

"They kind of were." At Shua's questioning look, she continued, keeping her voice low. "My father's parents had a train wreck of a marriage. Not long after my aunt Isabella was born, my grandparents separated. Father and Isabella went with their mother, and Boudicca and Hamilcar went with their father. Two really different households. My grandmother was a reasonable, down-to-earth sort of woman. My grandfather was a stuffed-shirt, my-way-or-the-highway, nose-in-the-air, pompous-ass jerk."

Shua nodded. "I see."

"But the split made Father deeply unhappy. He always hoped they could all get back together and be a family, but it never happened. After his father died and he became head of the family, Father wanted to reconnect with his siblings." Olivier spread her hands. "That's how this circus got started."

"Well, as circuses go, it's better than peanuts and popcorn," Shua said as he headed for the buffet. He gave the maid stationed behind the table an affable grin. "Hello there!" he greeted her. "What's your name, love?"

The startled maid's eyes widened. "Uh…Higgins…sir…"

Shua grimaced. "No, no! Your name. What does Mother call you when you're at home?"

The maid glanced down at the other end of the table where the head butler Aldridge stood supervising. She lowered her voice. "Lily, sir."

Shua looked delighted. "That's a lovely name! Well, Lily, could you help out a poor, starving fellow with some of your mistress's generosity?"

Olivier snorted. "Now you really do sound like you're asking for a handout, you brazen Ishvalan."

"At least I came through the front door."

Lily stifled a giggle, giving another cautious glance toward Aldridge, who was now looking their way. "Of course, sir. I recommend the cheese scones. The kedgeree is rather good, too. I'll be happy to bring you tea once you're seated," she added with a dimpled smile.

"Ah, you know how to treat a fellow right, Lily," Shua told her with a wink.

As they moved down the buffet table, Olivier murmured, "You're just a little too good at that."

"Always get on the good side of the help," Shua replied. "They're the ones who really run the place. Am I right?" he inquired of the under-butler who was standing guard over the chafing dish of kedgeree.

Aldridge stood just behind the man and stared in wooden silence at Shua. The server only raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't presume to argue, sir."

Aldridge prowled away as the server handed Shua a plate. He ventured to pull a face after the head butler's back was turned. "The cheese blintzes are not to be despised, sir."

"That's more than you can say for some, isn't it?" Shua took the plate as the server bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

After cruising the length of the buffet, Shua and Olivier joined Phillip and Sophia at one of the round tables arranged under the canopy. Lily promptly brought them tea.

"Excuse me," a voice called from a nearby table.

Olivier glanced over in that direction to see a dark-haired thirtyish woman gesturing for Lily.

"Of course, ma'am!" the maid said quickly. She dropped a curtsy toward the four she had just served. "If you'll excuse me." She hurried over with her teapot and filled the woman's cup.

The woman at the other table was strikingly beautiful, dressed in a stylish grey suit with a fox fur stole. It wasn't the sort of thing Olivier noticed or cared about, but even she could see how perfectly put together the woman was.

"Who is that?" Shua asked.

"That's Filetta, Hamilcar's wife," Sophia replied in a hushed voice. Filetta was one of those women who was probably used to being whispered about.

"Don't stare at her!" Olivier hissed.

"I'm not." Shua turned his attention back to the plate in front of him. He had a slight frown on his face. Then, with what seemed like an afterthought, he pulled out the empty chair next to him. "Don't sit there all by your lonesome," he called to Filetta. "Come join us."

Even Phillip stiffened. Filetta turned a mildly startled look at Shua, then glanced at the others around the table. Only a hint of a smile grew, one that barely reached the corners of her lips. "How kind," she said in a softly modulated voice. "But I was just leaving."

With a smooth motion she rose to her feet, gathered up her clutch purse and walked away. Shua watched her for a moment before turning back to the table. Olivier gave him an odd look.

"What did you do that for?" she asked. She smirked a little. "She's not your type. She's the bored socialite I was telling you about. "

Phillip cleared his throat quietly. "I wouldn't have thought her Ham's type, either, but there you have it." He shook his head and picked up another scone. "I'm still not sure what possessed him, apart from her good looks."

"Well, he has a trophy wife and she has money," Sophia remarked. "They both got what they want. Why they both seem so dissatisfied is rather beyond me."

Shua shook his head. "Well, I can't account for Ham, but her…" His frown grew troubled. "I haven't seen a look in a woman's eyes like that for a long time."

The others regarded him with interest. "What kind of look?" Olivier asked.

"Back in the day," Shua said, "the _falshaii_ had that same look in their eyes."

Phillip looked a little startled. "Do mean those…uh… _professional_ ladies you once told me about? The ones at that old tavern you once played at?" His eyes widened. "You don't mean to imply that my sister-in-law is a—"

Shua waved his hand. He had an almost sad look in his eyes, knowing that Uncle Ham's tastes might still run that way. "No, Phil, not at all. But there's more than one way a person can sell themselves." He pointed over his shoulder with his fork. "That woman has come to the end of a road that only goes one way. That look in her eyes is despair."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Olivier sat by herself under the tea tent, nursing a half-filled cup. Shua had gone off with Father somewhere, and Olivier was feeling a little abandoned and out of her element. Shua was the one who had talked her into coming here. The least he could do was stick around and fend off her more odious relatives with the sort of quick-witted charm that she had never been able to make an art of. He had hinted at the two of them getting lost in the hedge maze later on, adding a sly wink. Anything that might shock her family would be fun.

At the moment, though, she didn't feel like stirring. There really wasn't much else to do in this place except eat off expensive tableware with expensive cutlery or roam around in expensive clothing drinking expensive champagne mixed with expensive orange juice. Maybe she could pick a fight with Rupert and knock out another of his teeth.

Catherine and Dot entered the tea tent, deep in conversation. They headed straight for the table Olivier was sitting at, and as little as she cared to know what they were talking about, she couldn't be bothered to leave. She could have worse company.

Dot dropped herself into a chair across from Olivier and gave her a direct look. "What do you think of Galahad, General?"

Olivier shrugged. She was still inclined to think of her cousin as a ditzy teenager, but she did seem to have matured a little. "I haven't exactly had the chance to get to know him. Looks aren't everything."

"No, of course they aren't," Dot said. "He's awfully nice, though. I mean, Sim wouldn't pal around with just anyone. He thinks Galahad's the cat's pajamas and I trust his opinion on a fellow officer's character."

"I'm going to play croquet with him!" Catherine announced, making it sound like it had life-altering potential.

"We'll see how well croquet acts as a microcosm for real life!" Dot added.

Catherine blushed. "Dot! Really!"

"I don't think knocking a ball around with a mallet is enough to base a relationship on," Olivier remarked drily.

"Oh, I don't know," Dot said. "There's strategy plotting and decision making going on. Plus, you have to stand around and wait until the other teams have their turns, which is a good time to have a deep, soul searching conversation."

Olivier gave a little snort. "Fine. Tell me how it all works out."

"Would you like to join us, Ollie?" Catherine asked.

Olivier gave her a mildly incredulous look and forbore from replying. She didn't need to. Catherine ought to know better. Dot apparently did, even though she didn't know her cousin as well. "Told you so."

Catherine sighed. "I'd ask Shua, but he's gone off with Father to play billiards."

"Billiards?"

"Oh, yes." Catherine nodded in reply to Olivier's incredulous expression. "They're supposed to be playing with Uncle Hamilcar."

That was even harder to believe and likely to start something. Maybe that was Shua's ulterior motive. Olivier drummed her fingers on the linen covered tablecloth. She hoped he would be careful with Father there.

Catherine scowled thoughtfully. "We still need to find one more person."

The two girls considered each other. "There's Iggy," Dot said cautiously.

"Oh, no!" Catherine shook her head. "He's a dear, in his own way, but he'd probably end up hitting himself with the mallet."

Dot propped her chin on her hand. "Or someone else." She narrowed her eyes. "There's Rupert, I suppose."

Catherine looked doubtful. "I'm not sure I want to ask him. He won't partner with Alex, that's for sure."

"That's all right," Dot said. "I can team up with Rupert. I don't mind. Sim can play with Alex."

Olivier frowned. "Are you sure you want Rupe mixed up in this? He's not exactly a good sport."

Dot shrugged. "All us decent cousins will have him outnumbered, not to mention the redoubtable Second Lieutenant Brodnax-Fitzgeoffrey!" she added with a grin. "I could always make sure Rupert and I lose." She clasped her hands together and looked dramatically tragic. "And if he yells at me, I'll cry and make him feel like the dirty heel that he is."

Olivier thought this was all very ill-advised and likely to lead to carnage and slaughter. She might even go and watch.


	5. Chapter 5

Croquet was stupid. Even if her whole family wasn't passionate about it, Olivier would still think so. She could think of lots of better things to do than stand around while other people dithered over their turns. Same with billiards. She just didn't like games in general. They served no purpose. Yes, maybe there was strategy involved, but the end was still pointless. Field exercises were a different matter. On her bedside in her room at Briggs was a copy of _Instructions for the Representation of Tactical Maneuvers under the Guise of a Wargame_. A couple of chapters out of that and she slept like a baby.

The dynamic of this particular match might be interesting, though. It was being played with three teams of two players. Alex was paired up with Sim, Galahad with Catherine, and Dot with Rupert. Olivier was surprised that Rupe would have condescended to join such an activity, let alone team up with a girl, but he was probably in it to win at all costs and to rub everyone else's nose in his victory. Competitiveness was yet another trait that had been passed down through generations of the Armstrong family. It was not a trait that she enjoyed sharing with Rupert, but at least she wasn't an idiot about it.

Olivier showed up after it had started, keeping a bit out of the way, leaning against an elm tree that still had a scattering of russet leaves. Rupert stood at the edge of the playing field, leaning casually on his mallet, a custom set made from ebony with semi-precious stone set in each handle to designate color. He had a bored look on his face, but he was still eying the play-by-play with a predatory gleam. Catherine was just lining up her shot through the third wicket. Her ball was several feet away from the wicket and at an awkward angle, probably because it had been roqueted by someone else's ball, probably Rupert's, whose technique tended toward cutthroat.

Galahad was standing at a respectful distance, just off to one side rather than behind Catherine so it wouldn't appear as though he was looking at her butt as she bent over.

On top of all his other stupidities, Rupert had no patience. "Just hit the damn thing, Cat!"

Catherine's brows furrowed slightly. She hated being called that. Galahad's brow lifted slightly as he stole a glance toward the superior officer, a glance that more than bordered on insubordinate. Finally, with a calculated tap, Catherine struck her ball, black with a green stripe. It rolled across the finely manicured grass and passed through the wicket just far enough to be a legal play.

"Nicely played, Miss Catherine!" Galahad complimented with a polite inclination of his head.

"Thank you, Second Lieutenant," she replied so softly Olivier could barely hear her.

"About time!" Rupert grumbled. He jerked his chin toward Galahad. "You're up!"

Although not particularly interested, Olivier could analyze where the current play was. Sim and Alex had gone first, then Catherine and Galahad. Rupert had snagged the last spot, hoping to sneak up behind everyone like a cat stalking a flock of pigeons. Although he was paired with Dot, he was probably playing as though by himself. He was not a team player.

The next few plays were uneventful, just everyone advancing just a little more. Olivier moved a little further along the side of the court to keep up with them. This drew her closer to where her other cousins, Agrippina and Lucretia were sitting. Olivier kept to a short distance behind them, not enough for them to notice her but close enough to hear what they were saying.

"I don't care how many hyphens Mr. Bradnix-Fitz-Whatever has in his last name," Agrippina remarked in a sort of bored drawl. "He's common as dirt. His people are in trade. Grocers or something, and not particularly successful at that."

"My dear, how did you find all this out, particularly if they're such nobodies?" Lucretia asked.

"Oh, I have my little ways," Agrippina assured her sister with a faint smile. "I was having coffee with Sadie Maltravers just the other day—"

Lucretia drew in a soft little gasp. "Is she the one with the—"

"Quite so," Agrippina affirmed with a knowing look. "But she's quite highly placed in West City's Who's Who, after all, so one turns a blind eye. Anyway, the next time I saw her—we had tea over at La Blanche—she heard about it from a friend who had gotten it from some fellow who is courting the friend's cousin. He's an officer, you see, a couple of years ahead of Sim and Lieutenant Greengrocer. Anyway, they're just some sad little market gardeners, my dear. Not suitable at all." She glanced over at the playing field. "He's probably after Uncle Phillip's money," she added.

"Well, what else could it be?" Lucretia mused. "But I suppose being the head of the family, dear Uncle Phillip isn't overly concerned with that sort of thing. I mean, look at Olivier!"

"Who _thinks_ she's head of the family—"

"Which is all very irregular and highly suspect—"

"Typical of her throwing her weight around like that—"

"I don't think it's even official—"

"No? Well, they're rather odd anyway—"

"Oh, dreadfully so—"

"Which is my point entirely!" Agrippina declared. "I mean, what a disgrace! How Aunt Sophia could have possibly allowed it is utterly beyond me!"

"Oh, my dear, I know!" Lucretia breathed. "I mean, my only contact with _those_ people was when I hired some of them as domestics. Just to scrub floors, you know, and most certainly to keep out of the way! I didn't want to look at those peculiar red eyes of theirs!" She shuddered. "I didn't keep them for long, though, because, my dear!" She laid a hand on her sister's arm. "I didn't feel safe!"

Agrippina drew in a sympathetic gasp. "Oh, my dear, I know exactly what you mean! Do you remember me telling you about that one girl I took in, or rather our butler did because I couldn't possibly bring myself to interview her. The one with the _child_ ," she said in a hushed tone.

"Oh, yes, dear! I remember!"

" _Quite_ obviously out of wedlock, or whatever those people call it. Lured in some poor unsuspecting Amestrian soldier, had her way with him, then probably had her menfolk slit his throat!"

"Dreadful!"

"But the child was dark-haired and blue-eyed, my dear! Entirely half-bred! I caught one glimpse of the creature and sent them both packing!"

"You couldn't have done any differently, my dear!" Lucretia gripped the armrests of her lawn chair. "And to think Olivier went and—" She shuddered again. "I simply can't bend my mind around it! I—"

"Then how about you bend your mind around this!" The sisters froze as Olivier gripped their shoulders from behind. She kept her voice low, keeping her rage subdued. "If I hear you talk any more trash about my husband or his people, I'll set your hair on fire. And I know someone who can do it from a distance."

She didn't think she would actually be able to persuade Mustang to do such a thing, but her cousins wouldn't know that. She stepped away from the two women, feeling rather pleased with herself. She finally got someone in this tribe to shut the hell up without having to brandish a saber.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"You stupid twit!" Rupert bellowed at Dot, who had knocked his ball out of the carefully constructed position he'd left it in. "You're supposed to be on my team! Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

Dot look up at him with soulful eyes and a little pout, and Catherine hid a smile. Really, it was far too easy to provoke him. He was only three years younger than Olivier but he acted like a spoiled child. Dot nibbled on her fingertip. "Oh, I'm so awfully, dreadfully sorry, Rupert!" she simpered.

Behind Rupert, Sim was trying very hard not to laugh. Alex stepped up to take his turn. The mallet looked miniscule in his hands. "Do go on with what you were saying, Galahad," he said, picking up where Rupert's tantrum had cut off their conversation.

"Yes. I was thinking that Ishval would be at the top of my list," the young second lieutenant replied.

Alex nodded approvingly as he considered his shot. "It is a small contingent as yet," he said. "But its commander is one of the army's finest officers!"

"Well, that's partly my reason," Galahad said. "But Ishval has such a…dynamism. I want to be part of the rebuilding."

That was rather interesting. Catherine couldn't help approving. She hadn't quite made up her mind about Galahad. She wished she had taken the trouble to get to know him when Sim brought him to visit last year. Whatever had she been thinking? He had such a hauntingly intense quality about him then. He was so thin and poetic looking. It made her feel terribly shy and he took it as a lack of interest on her part. Then he went and tried to raise himself to a level of perfection that he thought was her standard. Yes, she did have certain standards, and although he had added some very gratifying breadth to his frame, Galahad had also become rather stiff and proper and hardly poetic or intense at all. Flawless didn't necessarily mean perfect.

"Huh!" Rupert snorted. He always knew how to ruin everything. "They can rebuild all they like, it'll always be a dump! That's what Father says, anyhow, and he was there before the war even started. Dirty, uncivilized place!"

"It is hardly uncivilized," Alex rumbled quietly. Rupert outranked him, so he couldn't argue with him too fiercely.

"Well, I suppose you would say so," Rupert sneered back. "You're rather soft on them, after all." He gave a curt laugh. "You're rather soft, in general, when it comes down to it. At least Father is one Armstrong who didn't leave Ishval in disgrace."

Alex stiffened but said nothing. Poor, dear Alex! How those words must have stung, even though he had, after all, done the right thing. Rupert, of course, would think he was a coward, but it seemed to Catherine that to be true to oneself took just as much courage as anything. She glanced at the other young officers to see if they might come to Alex's defense. Sim looked troubled, certainly. And Galahad—Catherine couldn't help but marvel at the silent storm brewing in the young lieutenant's azure eyes. It was frightening and noble at the same time. But neither of them spoke up against a superior officer. They apparently hadn't been out of the academy long enough to get over their fear of authority. At least Dot stuck her tongue out at Rupert's back.

Alex finally took his shot, but his heart wasn't in it and it went wide, nearly going out of bounds.

Catherine moved up to take her turn. Rupert's ball was now situated in the area between Catherine's ball and the seventh wicket. As Catherine began to line up her shot, Rupert took up an uncomfortably close stance, looming over the path Catherine's ball would take. She paused and straightened up, clearing her throat softly.

"Would you please move a little, Rupert?" she asked. "You're making it rather difficult."

Rupert shot her a look. "I intend to keep an eye on how you're tilting your mallet," he said. "For all I know, you're in cahoots with Dot to ruin my chances of winning!"

Catherine frowned. "Don't you think you're being a little childish?"

Rupert made a show of planting his feet a little firmer. "Empires fall for lack of attention to detail," he announced.

Catherine just stared at him blankly for a moment, then turned back to her ball, trying to change her position so Rupert wasn't breathing on her.

"Sir," Galahad said with dutiful respect but with an anger that smoldered just below the surface. Catherine noticed it if Rupert didn't. "I'm sure Miss Catherine isn't scheming your downfall. Perhaps if you—"

"Butt out, _Second_ Lieutenant!" Rupert snapped back. "I didn't ask for your opinion! You young pups think you know it all because you're fresh out of the academy! Well, you _don't_!"

Considering Rupert had spent most of his military career behind a desk, he was hardly at an advantage over the younger officers. Catherine tried very hard to concentrate on making her shot without touching Rupert's ball and causing another temper tantrum. But Rupert stood right there, breathing noisily through his nostrils. It really was more than a person could bear.

Catherine swung her mallet. She knew it wasn't the proper form. This wasn't golf, after all. The mallet missed her ball completely and connected with Rupert's forehead, quite dead center. It made a rather satisfying sound. He flew backwards, right off his feet, and landed spread-eagle on the ground. A rather neat red circle began to form above the bridge of his nose.

Everyone stared down at him for a few moments in silence. Dot's mouth had flown open. Alex's eyes grew round. Sim let out a whistle. Galahad was the only one who stepped forward. He leaned over Rupert's prone form, determining that he was still breathing. Then he turned to Catherine with a solemn regard.

"Miss Catherine. That was—"

Catherine collected herself. Her hands flew to her mouth. "I know!" she gasped. "It was terrible of me!"

A smile, a brilliant, warm, genuine, poetic smile grew on Galahad's face. "No, Miss Catherine, it was splendid!" His teeth glinted in the sun. Or was it a sparkle? _Was it a sparkle?_

Catherine's breath caught in her throat. He really _was_ perfect.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cheating a little bit here. I'm using the terms "billiards" and "pool" interchangeably, although I think they're actually different games. Particularly when dealing with the Armstrong family, I tend to portray them as sort of English gentry (influenced by much of my reading tastes), so the term billiards just seems to come more naturally. Since I needed something relatively simple with a fairly fast pace, the game that is going to be played in this chapter is nine ball, which is an American game.
> 
> Wow, this chapter turned out long. I blame Shua. He loves to talk.
> 
> ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Shua considered himself pretty good at billiards. He had been taught by the Honorable Member of Parliament for Resembool, Neville Wainwright, who in his younger days was renown not for how many sheep he could shear in ten minutes, but for reigning supreme at the local pool hall. Then he got into politics.

He wasn't quite sure what possessed Phillip in the first place to bring him along to shoot pool with his brother. Maybe Phillip, being so amiable, couldn't conceive of anyone else being otherwise. Maybe he wanted to balance out Hamilcar's less that pleasant qualities with those of his amiable son-in-law. Maybe Hamilcar really wasn't all that bad once you got to know him. Shua had been trying to figure out a way to get at close quarters with Hamilcar and test his theory, and this seemed as good a way as any. He would have preferred that Phillip not get involved, but he would just have to tread a little more carefully.

He had never known who his real father was, and he grew up without any particular father figure around. Vashto didn't count. He was a worthy fellow, in his own way. He was the one who first put a fiddle in Shua's hands, taught him how to make halmi, and generally started him on the road to debauchery- - Ishvala forbid!- -survival. But Shua would rather be a no-name desert rat bastard child than claim any kinship with Old Vashto. The vaguest, narrowest possibility that he might possibly share some tender tie of blood with that old pimp was enough to keep him awake at night.

Phillip was a different story. It didn't matter that he was so stinking-ass rich he could buy the country and call it a bargain at twice the price. He was a good man. He adored his wife with a passion and his children filled him with love and pride. That was something in which Shua could find no fault. They had already met up in Xing some years before, so Phillip had already taken his measure. Maybe Miles had already paved the way for having an Ishvalan at the dinner table. Maybe he was just that thrilled that his beloved eldest daughter had found herself a decent fellow. But for whatever reason, Phillip Gargantos Armstrong had welcomed Shua, just Shua, into his family with open arms.

Shua sincerely hoped that the thinly veiled contempt Hamilcar seemed to hold for his brother was just him having a bad day. Phillip was so even-tempered that if he did notice, he chose to tolerate it for the sake of family harmony. Shua had to wonder if it was worth it.

Hamilcar drew himself up with seething indignation at the sight of Shua stepping into the billiards room at Phillip's side.

"What," he blustered, "do you mean by bringing this"—he flapped a paw at Shua—"fellow along? Really, Phillip, this is past a joke!"

All right. That answered that.

Phillip looked at him with a mix of wide-eyed innocence and older brother wisdom. "Oh, tut, tut!" he said with gentle authority. Shua had to keep from chuckling. Tut tut seemed to hold an almost mystical power for Phillip. It was as good as a charm against even the most obstinate of foes. "Just thought you'd be interested in more of a challenge than just me." He beamed modestly at Shua. "I'm not exactly a grand master, you know."

"Ah, now, Phil!" Shua patted him on the back. "Remember how fast you picked up mah jong and how you beat the pants off me and Ling?"

Phillip chuckled. "Yes, I was rather good, wasn't I?"

"Good times," Shua agreed.

"Phillip!" Hamilcar barked. "If I may be allowed to get a word in edgewise?"

"Oh, yes, yes, old man!" Phillip replied easily, heading for the rack of cues and looking them over with a less-than-expert eye. "Go right ahead."

His brother let out an impatient huff. "Phillip, you may be my older brother—"

Phillip selected a cue from the rack. "Well, of course I am, old thing! There's no maybe about it."

Hamilcar continued with his jaw beginning to clench. "But I will only suffer so many indignities!"

Phillip turned and looked at him with surprise. "Indignities? Whatever are you talking about?"

Shua let out a sigh. "He's talking about me, Phil."

"Tuh!" Hamilcar gave a curt nod. "That is exactly what I'm talking about! I spent more time amongst these persons"—he jerked his chin at Shua but spoke to Phillip—"than I care to remember! We fought a war against them! A damn, dirty business it was, too! Sneaking and hiding and throwing those savage, mad-eyed monks at decent, red-blooded soldiers—"

"Oh, go on with you, Ham!" Phillip laughed. "You were well out of there before the fighting really got started. What do you say? Nine ball? Winner takes on the next fellow?"

"That's not the point!" Hamilcar sputtered. "The point is—"

Phillip drew himself up, although he was a good foot shorter. "The point is, Hamilcar, that this is my son-in-law. He is as decent and true as anyone I've met and I'm proud of him. I don't normally like to throw my weight around, and I certainly shouldn't have to. But I expect you to be not just an officer and a gentleman, but a good sport as well!" He grabbed another cue from the rack and tossed it to his brother, who caught it in mid-air with a surprised look on his face. "I'll even let you go first." Phillip turned to Shua. "If that's all right with you."

"Of course!" Shua replied with a casual wave of his hand, but he was ready to burst at the seams with pride in his father-in-law. "You two go ahead and start off. Let's say best out of seven."

"Splendid! Splendid!" Phillip chortled.

Hamilcar just harrumphed. "Fine!" he muttered. For the first time, he addressed Shua directly, pointing the tip of his cue at him. "I suppose it'd be interesting to see what you're made of."

Shua just shrugged. "Flesh, blood, and bone, _lahaat_ , just like you."

Hamilcar scowled like he begged to differ, but he said nothing. The balls were already neatly racked in a diamond shape and the cue ball was set squarely behind the head string. Hamilcar moved to the head rail and eyed the cue ball down the length of his cue like a predator sizing up its prey. Moving his back arm in a neat, steady pendulum motion, he gave the cue ball a sharp hit in the center. The white ball whisked along the green felt, breaking smartly into the yellow one ball at the point of the diamond. While the four and the six ball shot straight into opposite pockets and the others came to rest at various points on the table, the cue ball rolled docilely back toward Hamilcar.

"Oh, nicely done!" Phillip exclaimed. "Nicely done, indeed."

Hamilcar smirked. "Child's play, Phillip."

It was too soon to tell, Shua thought, but Uncle Ham might actually be good. He played each shot carefully, almost dragging each one out just to show off, in Shua's opinion. Neville Wainwright, MP, could easily sink all nine balls in a matter of a few minutes. While Ham was prowling around the table, Shua leaned against the wall in an unobtrusive spot and began to sing quietly. As soon as he started, Hamilcar paused and gave him a look of distaste.

"Do you mind?" he growled.

Shua left off singing for a moment. "Not at all!" he replied with a grin and continued singing.

Hamilcar let out an exaggerated sigh and straightened up. "Must we have that caterwauling?"

"Oh, now, Ham!" Phillip said. "Shua is quite an accomplished musician, don't y'know. When he's not parliamenteering, he's singing with his son's ensemble, Spirit of Ishval! Surely you've heard them!"

"Tuh!" Hamilcar snorted. "You don't actually think I'd pay money to go see some damn driveling minstrel show! I heard enough of that pig swill when I was stationed there!"

Although he didn't stir from where he was, Shua alternately seethed and gloried underneath. _I've got you now, lahaat! You heard the best of that pig swill under Vashto's roof and you heard it from me._

"Now, now!" Phillip chided. "There's no need for that sort of talk! I happen to like Ishvalan music quite a lot." He turned to Shua. "You carry on, my boy!"

Hamilcar waved his cue at Shua. "I can't concentrate with that going on! What's more, it's unsportsmanlike conduct!"

"But I'm not playing this round!" Shua reasoned affably. "Besides, I bet you could clear that table blindfolded with a brass band playing in your ear!"

Hamilcar gave a short grunt. "I daresay I could," he muttered as he bent back down to draw a bead on the eight ball. "Drivel away, if you must."

Shua gladly took him up on that, continuing with his song. It detailed the bawdy exploits of a rooster. It was something Shua had cobbled together years ago, just before the war, when Hamilcar was likely to have heard it. He only would have heard it at Vashto's, where it became very popular. Each verse ended with the rooster's triumphant crow.

_"Ku-ku-ri-ku-u-u!"_

Hamilcar flinched just as he hit the cue ball, which shot between the eight and nine balls, bounced off the side rail, and rolled straight into the corner pocket.

"Ooh!" Phillip exclaimed, startled. "You scratched, Ham! I've never seen you do that before!"

Hamilcar turned his furious glare from the corner pocket to his brother and then to Shua, who simply smiled back and returned a hint of a wink with the eye on the side Phillip couldn't see.

_Remember me now?_

Hamilcar's visage paled then grew darker, and as he stepped back from the rail to let his brother go past to retrieve the cue ball, he kept a narrow glare on Shua.

Chuckling to himself, Phillip set the cue ball back on the felt in a perfect line to the eight ball, which he sunk with little effort. The shot for the remaining nine ball would be just a little harder, but not too much.

 _Come on, Phil!_ Shua urged silently. _You can do this!_

Bending over his cue and squeezing one eye shut, Phillip took the shot. The cue ball struck the nine ball, which rolled in a leisurely fashion into the side pocket.

"Ho! Ho ho!" Phillip raised his cue above his head. "Did y'see that!"

Shua applauded. "Well done, Phil! Well done!"

Hamilcar was about to open his mouth, but then closed it with a grim frown, giving Shua another malevolent look. He could possibly have called a foul, and Shua was a little surprised that he didn't make more of a stink. But Shua's little stunt must have jabbed him right in his tender bits, and although Shua could easily claim the victory he was looking for, that round belonged entirely to Phillip, who was still chuckling.

"So!" Phillip beckoned to Shua. "Come along, then, my boy! Let's see you top that one!"

"You're scaring me, Phil!" Shua said with a laugh, selecting a cue from the rack.

Phillip re-racked the balls and set the cue ball in its spot above the head string. He neatly hit the one ball, but in his next turn missed the two ball. Undaunted, he stepped back to let Shua take his turn. Shua could easily have pocketed the rest of the balls in short order, and he did make a good showing of it, but when he got to the seven, he let the cue ball give it just the briefest kiss, letting it roll just a couple of inches to the side.

"Ah, there now!" he said, straightening up with a shrug. "Let's see what you can do with that!"

"Heh, heh!" Phillip managed to sink the next three balls, although the last one was a near thing, hovering just on the edge before tipping into the pocket.

Phillip let out a loud whoop then put his hand to his mouth a little sheepishly. Shua could have kissed the man, but certainly not in front of his brother, who was looking particularly sour. He settled for an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders.

The balls were re-racked and Phillip faced his brother once again. This time, Hamilcar made short work of the table, his movements angry and deliberate. Phillip was perfectly happy to lose, still basking in the glow of his earlier victories.

A light step was heard at the door, and Dot poked her head in. "I'm awfully sorry!" she said brightly. "But Aunt Sophie wants to know if Uncle Phil can make up a fourth for bridge. If not, I can sit in. But I know you're Auntie's favorite partner," she added with a dimpled smile.

"Oh, yes, well, I can't disappoint my good lady wife, now, can I?" Phillip set his cue back on the rack and turned to the others with a little bow. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I'll just rest on my laurels."

"You do that, Phil," Shua replied. "We'll be fine."

"Oh, and Uncle Hamilcar," Dot went on. "I'm afraid Rupert's had a bit of a misfire with a croquet mallet, but he's fine now. He can sit up and feed himself and everything."

"What?" Hamilcar gave her an odd, scowling look. "Fine, fine," he muttered distractedly.

Phillip followed his niece out of the room, leaving Shua alone with Hamilcar.

"So!" Shua turned back to the pool table and started gathering balls from the pockets. "Best out of seven, wasn't it?"

"Think you're clever, don't you?"

Shua glanced over at Hamilcar, who had been eying him with a baleful glower. Shua put on a thoughtful look. "The jackal sat on an anthill and proclaimed himself prince. Then the ants bit him in the ass." He rolled the four ball across the felt to join its mates in the center of the table. "Do I think I'm clever?" He pulled a lightly mocking grimace of disapproval. "Pride's a dirty sin."

He racked the balls into a neat diamond shape and set the rack aside. Then he stepped back and picked up his cue. "Your break, Uncle."

"Don't you even dare claim any family tie with me, you low-life scoundrel!" Hamilcar snarled.

Shua just chuckled quietly. "Like I've never been called that before."

"I'll bet you have!" Hamilcar declared, raising his chin like a martyr. "Should've figured you were running some sort of game the moment I set eyes on you!"

Shua replied with an innocent look and gestured at the pool table. "The only game I'm playing right now is nine ball. If you don't want to break, I will." He set the cue ball in its starting place.

Hamilcar seemed to have lost interest in billiards. "What makes you think anyone's going to believe you?" he challenged.

Shua hit the cue ball, sending it sharply into the point of the diamond. "About what?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Hamilcar was trying to scoff, but Shua thought he saw a glistening just under the man's pomaded hairline.

"Sure I do. I guess I just wanted to hear you admit to spending your time in Ishval drinking and whoring."

"Tuh!" Hamilcar stirred his shoulders a little uncomfortably but still trying to maintain a defiant bluster. "If I indulged _occasionally_ , it's no more than what might be expected of any…vigorous male…" He scowled at the snicker Shua let out, then paused as he watched the cue ball knock the two ball into the side pocket, bank off the rail, and send the three ball into the opposite pocket. Hamilcar cleared his throat. "It was a lonely posting in a strange, savage land. A man has needs, damn you!"

"And yet you're starting to sweat like a nervous bridegroom. Are you that worried about what Big Brother will say?"

"What passes between my brother and me is none of your concern!" He sounded edgy, nonetheless. Then he gave a triumphant sneer. "And who are you to judge me, anyway!" He pointed at Shua. "You were there, too! You and that putrid little turd of a son and that filthy tramp of a girl."

Shua stiffened imperceptibly. For a moment he was taken back to those hard days in the _vatrishi_ camps. He wouldn't have taken that from one of his own kind without a fight, but one of his own kind was unlikely to say such a thing. If one of the Amestrians had made a remark like that, he would have had to bend over and take it. The satisfaction of beating the crap out a bluecoat wasn't worth the trouble it would cause. It was not a fond memory. He calmly considered his next shot. "Oh, I just provided the booze and the entertainment. Vashto ran the place. The _falshaii_ were his concern. You remember Vashto, don't you? Scrawny fellow. Right shoulder a bit higher than his left. Tight-assed little bastard. Not exactly good times, but there were some high points."

Shua sank the four and five balls with an intricate shot that would've made old Neville proud. He would have to stand the man a drink when he got back to Central. "So I have no right to judge you, eh?" He moved around to the head of the table. "Maybe I don't. That liquor I made—still make—was pretty much calculated to make men stupid and part with their money and make 'em think it was a fair trade. And hell, I've been around a bit myself. I journeyed all over the East and came across any number of ways to quench my thirst and sate my...uh...manly vigor," he ended with a chuckle.

"Hah!" Hamilcar shot back. "And does my brother suspect any of this? Does he know what sort of filthy, degraded scum his daughter married?"

Shua gave a laugh. "Sorry, soldier-boy, you've got no leverage. Of course he does! My life's an open book, and it's a damn good read, let me tell you! The difference between you and me, though, is that when I was up to my mischiefs and carryings-on, I hadn't even met Ollie." He shook his head. "Ishvala damn me for a godless Ammy bastard if I'm tempted to stray now." He probably should have added _no offense_ , but they were pretty much past that point.

He sent the six ball smartly into the seven ball and both of them straight into the corner pocket. "You, on the other hand, had the Armstrong's good name to uphold, not to mention you were married to your son's mother when you were enjoying the delicate favors of our _falshaii_. And don't try telling me you only showed up once in a blue moon to let off steam. You were one of our regulars. But that's between you and your conscience or your Creator or whatever you might think yourself answerable to. I don't honestly care, myself."

"Then why drag it up?"

"I thought it'd be good for a laugh." Shua gave him a thin half smile. "And it was, for a bit." He raised his cue stick to a higher angle and hit the cue ball low, practically into the table. The cue ball hopped over the nine ball and sank the eight ball. "But that, alas, is where the fun ends."

Hamilcar's expression went grim, like a cornered animal. "I thought so!" he muttered hoarsely. "What is it you want? Money?"

Shua straightened up from his final shot and stared at him. "Money? Ishvala bless your shriveled soul, General! I'm comfortably flush, thanks. What do I want your money for?"

"What do you want then?" Hamilcar spat out, a little desperately.

"Not a damn thing." Shua leaned back down to consider the nine ball. "This conversation isn't going to leave this room, on my soul it won't." He gave the cue ball a sharp hit. It went past the nine ball, banked off the side, banked off the head rail, banked off the other side, and came back to send the nine ball into the side pocket. "I've got no desire to upset your brother, who seems to think rather highly of you. Can't think why, considering what an ass-chancre you are."

Shua set the cue stick down on the table. He stepped up close to Hamilcar and spoke into his face. "And just for the record, you have no right to judge me, either. Not me, not my people, and especially not my family!" he said with a sharp, hard edge to his voice. "Katri might not have been a fine lady, but she sure as hell wasn't a tramp, and your bluecoats left my grandbaby without a mother." He was tempted to draw his long twin knives from their scabbards at the small of his back, just for a bit of added drama. He rarely ever traveled without them. No, too showy. Besides, he might not trust himself right now, not when old resentments and anger were rising just a little too close to the surface. "And if I ever hear you badmouth my son again...well...if I didn't have obligations to people who are so much better than you in every damn particular, I'd make you one very sorry fellow. And I promise you, I can be pretty imaginative."

He grinned, and not disarmingly, either. He touched a couple of fingers to his forehead. "I'd play you a few more games, but let's just call it a draw."

Hamilcar looked a little pale but remained obstinately silent, which suited Shua just fine, and he left him at that. It was high time he hunted down Ollie, anyway. She might not be best pleased with him for wandering off and having so much fun without her.


	7. Chapter 7

"She said something about the hedge maze," Catherine said in reply to Shua wanting to know where Olivier had gotten off to. She pointed over her shoulder to the massive green wall that loomed in the near distance. "I've heard it's one of the most difficult ever…um…grown." She frowned a little and turned to Galahad. "Built?"

"Designed," the young lieutenant suggested.

Catherine glowed with pleasure at his reply. At this point, he could spout utter nonsense and she'd still sparkle at him. Shua smiled at her. She'd gotten to the arm-linking stage with the young man. No, make that _her_ young man. She'd definitely taken possession of him.

He headed on toward the entrance to the maze, which had been neatly trimmed into an arch. The walls, trimmed just as neatly, stood a good seven feet high. He passed under the arch and entered the quiet, green corridors. As he took the first turn, it occurred to him that he should have asked just how big this thing was. The Emperor of Xing had one on the palace grounds that covered an entire acre. If you got lost, there were flagpoles set here and there so you could run up a distress pennant. There was nothing like that here. So either it wasn't that big or difficult, or whoever built it had a nasty sense of humor.

If Olivier was in here somewhere, he figured he would come across her at some point. But after several turnings and having to backtrack a few times, he was beginning to wonder if he should just call out for her. No, that wouldn't be much of a challenge. It would be more fun to sneak up on her or have her sneak up on him. Either way would have its own particular exhilaration.

After another ten minutes or so, he was starting to get a little more frustrated. Maybe he should have left a trail or unrolled a spool of thread, but it was a little late for that now. He decided to just keep going and see what might turn up.

He made a couple of sharp left turns that led him into a long stretch. Up ahead was a spot where the hedge had a shallow curve trimmed out of it. Set in the curve was a stone bench, and on this bench sat Filetta. She was simply gazing down at the immaculately trimmed grass of the path before her, the heels of her hands leaning against the seat of the bench. She looked up with a languid gaze as Shua approached.

"Are you lost?" she asked.

Shua shrugged. "Don't really know yet. Ask me again when the sun goes down and I'm still in here walking around in circles."

Filetta smiled blandly. "I think Boudicca keeps a map somewhere."

Shua considered her for a moment. Her voice had a sultry softness to it, and with a warmer undertone it would have been a very pleasant thing to listen to.

She was letting Shua study her, as though it was something she was quite used to. She probably was. And she had become pretty cold about it, too. Shua considered himself pretty self-possessed. He'd felt perfectly at ease in the company of royalty. But something about this woman made him uneasy in a compelling sort of way. He'd been right about her eyes, now that he got another look at them. She wore the height of fashion, every hair in place, skin like porcelain, and her eyes were bereft of hope. All dressed up and no place to go.

"Has Olivier passed by this way?" he asked her.

Filetta's green eyes widened just a little with an innocent ignorance. "Sorry," she replied. "I haven't seen her, and I've been sitting here for some time." She patted the spot beside her on the bench. "How about instead of running around in circles, you sit and wait for her. She's bound to come by sooner or later. In the meantime, you can keep me company."

Something in the back of his mind was telling Shua that this might not be a good idea, but he was a little too tempted by curiosity. He sat down beside her. "If you're in such need of company, why are you hiding in here?"

She smiled a fetchingly cheerless smile. "Well, can you blame me, honestly? You've met those people, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, I see your point."

"I do hope so." She sighed and briefly laid her hand on his wrist. "That was a very kind gesture you made earlier, inviting me to sit with you."

"Which you didn't take me up on."

She glanced away, her long, dark lashes barely shielding a bleakness in her eyes. She seemed to muster herself and turned back to Shua. "I didn't think the others would care much for my company. That seems to be the pattern of my life." She sighed. "Surrounded by people, yet I'm so dreadfully lonely."

Shua frowned just a little. What she said was probably true, but it rang false. He figured he'd play along for the moment. "That seems a little hard to believe. Your husband certainly seems to be full of manly vigor. He ought to be all kinds of fun." It was a little hard to say that with a straight face.

"He's a boor and a lout!" she declared in a tragic voice.

"You said it, not me."

Filetta touched him again, pressing her hand to his upper arm and leaning toward him a little. "It's true!" she breathed, a quiet desperation now entering her voice. "He doesn't love me, and I have so much love to give!" Her fingers curled around his arm and pulled him a little closer. She gazed into his eyes and spoke in a soft, velvety whisper, the sort of sound that sent men to their knees. "You're different from them! Surely you can see that!"

The look she was giving him was supposed to be both alluring and forlorn and the way her chin was tilted up was supposed to invite attention to the sad pout of her lips, appealing to both his better nature and his baser instincts. And she almost got it right. "I can see something," Shua told her. "But I don't think it's what you think it is."

He pried her fingers from his arm and took her hand between both of his, partly as a comfort and partly to keep it off of him. "Look. I'm flattered as hell, really, and I appreciate the fact that your marriage isn't exactly crafted in heaven." He pressed her hand a little more firmly. "I know you're unhappy, but I know this is an act."

Her eyes grew large with wounded astonishment, and she opened her mouth to protest. Then she blew out an exasperated breath and she slumped a little. Her face lost something of its fine, seamless, porcelain quality, turning her into a regular flesh-and-blood woman. "God, I'm so sorry!" She drew her hand away from his. "Of all the people here, you didn't deserve that."

This was a little easier to handle. "Well, like I said, I was flattered. And you're honest-to-Ishvala unhappy. But you could have been a little more up front about it."

"Yeah, I should have figured." She gave a quiet chuckle and shook her head. She regarded him with curious interest. "What I can't figure is how you even got involved with this family."

"In a roundabout way, I guess," Shua replied, smiling at one or two memories of his early acquaintance with Olivier. "And just so you know, the branch of the family I got involved in isn't so bad."

Filetta didn't look convinced. "They're all the same, one way or another. Either they look down their noses at me, or they look at me like I'm about to turn into a werewolf or something. But I meant what I said," she went on, her smile returning. "That really was a very kind gesture you made. I don't get kindness a lot."

"Ah, well, I know what it's like to be down so far it starts to look like up," Shua said with a wry grin. "I wasn't exactly born with a silver spoon up my ass."

Filetta laughed softly, but not with much humor. "Well, I was, so to speak."

"Oh?" Shua's eyebrows went up. "If you don't mind me bringing it up, I was led to believe that you married Hamilcar because you were hard up."

"I did," Filetta replied. "Because I was. But I didn't start out that way. Daddy made a fortune early and married his childhood sweetheart. Growing up I had everything I could possibly want. I was an only child and an heiress. I had no end of suitors. I played at being particular. I thought I'd be young and rich and beautiful forever."

"But everything went south at some point?"

Filetta nodded. "Mother died and Daddy took it hard. He started making some very unwise decisions. I certainly didn't know any better. He started gambling, too, and drinking. Without my mother around, he just didn't seem to care." She shrugged. "By the time I found him dead from alcohol poisoning, he was horribly in debt. I had to sell everything—or rather, the lawyers did—just to pay off all the people he owed. There wasn't much left for a funeral, and there certainly wasn't much left for me to live on. All my eager suitors vanished. I had spent my youth going to balls and teas and tennis parties and I didn't have a single skill I could live on.

"I ended up staying with an elderly friend of my mother's. She wasn't a very close friend, and she made it clear that this arrangement was going to be temporary. She's the one who introduced me to Hamilcar."

"Love at first sight, huh?" Shua remarked with grim humor.

Filetta let out a delicate snort of derision. "I let him pitch a little woo, put up with his pawing, and snapped him up as soon as he popped the question." She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. "That's how desperately scared I was about being poor and on my own."

She went back to her original posture with the heels of her hands propped on the bench. She still maintained an elegant poise, which probably came naturally to her but might have been simply force of habit. "So I got the security I wanted. I can buy expensive clothes. I get to drive a cute little roadster. I live in a big house with lots of servants. I host lavish dinner parties for Hamilcar's fellow officers who are all envious of him. Hamilcar is very generous, but it's all _his_ , which he never fails to remind me. If I don't do as he says, he'll take it away." Her mouth twisted into a little grimace. "I won't bore you with the details of my intimate life. It's not pretty, but I suppose any high-priced call girl would be doing much the same. At least he's predictable."

Shua studied her profile. He was having a little trouble deciding what to think. This was a little more complicated than her just being a poor little rich girl. Having been brought up privileged, she had no street smarts or worldly wisdom. She saw an opportunity and took it without considering consequences or alternatives.

"You've got me wondering,"he said after a few moments.

"Like, why the act?"

"Among other things."

Filetta raised her shoulders. "I'm not sure. His family took me for a gold digger from the start, so rather than try to make myself more endearing, I went the other way. It just sort of happened." She frowned, her shapely brows furrowing a little. "Maybe I didn't want to be reminded of my old life, when I was all bubbly and vivacious. Now it's just become a habit." A little dismal smirk pulled at her lips. "It's kind of perverse, isn't it?"

"Not kind of, sweetheart," Shua replied with gentle sternness.

Filetta reached out and squeezed his arm, this time in a genuine gesture. "I'm sorry. About trying to come on to you, I mean. That really was perverse." She didn't look at him directly, but Shua could see her eyes filling with tears. "That's the sort of person I've become," she said, her voice breaking. "Pretty soon it won't be just an act anymore."

She turned away quickly to snatch up her purse, digging through it for a handkerchief. She pressed it against her nose and mouth, squeezing her eyes shut and struggling to maintain her composure. Then Shua put his arm around her shoulders and she broke down.

He gave her a few minutes to let out what must have been building up for a while, but then he gave her a little shake. "Listen to me, Filetta. I have a thought."

Filetta, who was probably fairly good at keeping herself under control, managed to pull herself together. Her breathing grew a little less ragged and she lifted her head, turning red-rimmed eyes toward Shua.

"Now, I realize that you're too scared to face the big, bad world on your own. And Ishvala forgive me, I'm no homewrecker. But I expect your home was pretty wrecked before you even got there," Shua reasoned. "Anyway, I'm going to put an idea in your head, and I want you to let it rattle around in there." He reached into the inner breast pocket of his coat and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he took out a card. He gave a little chuckle. "I thought these were stupid at first, but they come in handy every now and again. Got a pencil?"

Filetta gave him an uncertain look but took a small mechanical pencil from her purse. Shua took it and, turning his card over, wrote a name and a telephone number on the back. He handed the card to Filetta. "I want you to call this person."

She frowned at the card. "Madame Christmas?" she read. "Is she a divorce lawyer?"

"No, she's a theatrical agent."

Filetta looked up, blankly startled. "A what?"

"You said you had no skills, but I think you're wrong about that," Shua explained. "I think you could try your hand at theater."

"I…are you crazy? I've never acted in my life!"

"No? That was one hell of a performance you put on before. You put on an act every day. You said so yourself. It's pretty well done. Anyway, Madame Christmas manages my son's group, Spirit of Ishval."

Filetta drew in a little breath. "Oh, I wanted to go see them when they were on tour! Hamilcar wouldn't let me."

"So I heard," Shua remarked wryly. "But I want you to get in touch with her. Tell her I sent you, tell her your story, and I'm pretty sure she'll help you out."

Filetta looked back at the card. "I don't…I don't think I…" She shook her head and handed the card back to Shua as if afraid it might bite her. "I couldn't!"

Shua gently pushed her hand away. "Filetta, this is a chance at a new life. Not the one you used to have, but maybe better. I know it's scary to leave everything behind and live by your wits, but I think you've got some up there." He tapped her gently on the forehead. "And I wouldn't bother Chris about something like this unless I thought it was a sure thing. She doesn't advertise. She's not even in the phone book. She takes the word of people she trusts."

A little gleam of hope was beginning to spark in Filetta's eyes, but it wasn't quite brave enough just yet. "But what if I…what if I'm awful?"

"Then I'm sure Madame Christmas will help you get yourself set up doing else." Shua looked around as though someone might possibly be listening in on their conversation. "She may still be doing a sideline of information brokering, but that's strictly between you, me, and the birdie in the tree," he said, tapping the side of his nose. "But I think you'll do just fine."

Filetta clutched the card between her fingers. "It'll cause a scandal. The Armstrongs will never forgive me."

"Maybe just some of them, but not the ones I give a rat's ass about. Phil and Sophie are all right, really. I'll explain the situation to them, so don't worry about that. Oh," Shua added, taking the card and turning it over. "That's me. My office in Central. Look me up if you need any help once you get there." He lifted her chin and fixed her with a look. "Promise me you'll give it a shot."

A smile grew on Filetta's lips. She took a deep breath. "I promise!" She leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Shua! You're wonderful!"

"You keep telling him that, and he just might believe you." Olivier was standing in front of the bench, the softness of the well-tended grass having masked the sound of her footsteps. She looked down at Shua with a raised eyebrow and folded arms, reserving judgment, but not for long.

Shua looked up at her, feeling neither guilty nor compromised. "There you are, _laleh_! I figured you'd show up at some point. Saved me a trip."

Filetta cleared her throat softly and slid a few inches away from Shua. She took a small compact from her purse and checked the mirror. With a few expert dabs, she repaired any damage her crying might have left on her face. "Well, I should be getting back." She rose with her usual fluid grace, taking on her role once more, but maybe not for much longer. She flashed Shua a smile. "See you at the pictures!"

"Break a leg," Shua replied.

Filetta moved away, whispering "You're so lucky!" to Olivier as she passed. Olivier looked less than convinced. Filetta went back down the corridor of the maze and disappeared at the turn. Olivier turned back to Shua.

He cocked his head and met her somewhat severe look with a little grin that was mischievously contrite. "I did a thing," he informed her.

Olivier's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

"I told Filetta that she should get up the courage to strike out on her own, so you may be short one auntie sometime soon."

Olivier drew in a sharp breath. Shua prided himself on being one of the few people who could take her by surprise. "You told her to leave Hamilcar?"

Shua nodded. "That's what I did."

"Huh!" Olivier mused on this information with a slight frown. "That's kind of strange coming from you. I mean, I didn't think Ishvalans were big on divorce. The sanctity of marriage and all that stuff."

"Sanctity, my auntie's goat!" Shua scoffed. "There's no sanctity in that marriage, Ollie. They probably got spliced down at City Hall without so much as a by-your-leave from Ishvala, so I've got nothing on my conscience."

"It'll raise a stink," Olivier observed.

"Ah!" Shua waved off her remark. "Your Uncle Ham raises plenty of a stink all on his own. Trust me, it's for the best." He gazed thoughtfully up at the sky over the top of the hedge. "I really wasn't trying to do Hamilcar a mischief, as much as he deserves one. He's enough of a burden to himself. There's no reason he should be one to anyone else."

"Personally, I don't really care," Olivier said. "I'm just not looking forward to Mother and Father going on about it." She sighed wearily. "Because they will."

"They may surprise you," Shua told her. He patted the spot on the bench beside him. "So stop looking at me like I've been winking at the girls, 'cause I haven't."

"Winking is fine, as long as it doesn't go any farther than that." Olivier allowed him a smile and sat down beside him

He put his arm around her and she leaned into him as he drew her closer. He buried his face in her hair and spoke softly just behind her ear. "Ishvala have mercy on my poor soul if I ever give you cause to leave me, _laleh_. I couldn't bear it."

She turned her face toward him so their foreheads touched and she kissed him. "My life would be way too boring without you."


	8. Chapter 8

Sophia glanced across the card table at Phillip, who was holding the East position to her West. She was more than grateful for his company, although he seemed uncharacteristically subdued, which concerned her. She was also a little concerned about him having left Shua alone with Hamilcar. When she asked, in a discreet undertone, if that was quite a wise thing to do, Phillips just replied, "What will be, will be, my dear." Sophia thought this was a little odd for him to say, and she was not reassured.

There was a rather grim atmosphere at the table. Boudicca, who was playing North, had her usual look of perpetual distaste. She seemed to be a prime example of having ignored the warnings that if she kept making that face it would freeze like that. Her partner was Iggy's mother, Priscilla Armstrong-Zimmerman, who was a very quiet person. She would make soft remarks of very few words, and if you missed them you were simply out of luck.

Boudicca, who never seemed to enjoy life at the best of times, despite her wealth, seemed even a little more put out than usual. Sophia could think of a few reasons why, some more foremost than others. She supposed that if she waited long enough, she would probably find out. It ended up not taking all that long.

"What, may I ask," Boudicca said finally, "possessed you to bring that person here?"

Ah, there it was. She might possibly have been speaking to Priscilla and referring to Ignatz, but Sophia knew better. "Which person would that be, dear?" she asked innocently. She glanced briefly at Phillip, trying to catch his eye and enlist his support. But he just sat frowning slightly at his cards.

Boudicca's face settled into an even more severe mask of disapproval. "I'm sure you know precisely to whom I am referring, Sophia. I am referring to that Ishvalan person."

"Oh, Shua!" Sophia chuckled softly but she could feel her ire rising. She would not let Boudicca bait her. "Olivier brought him. He is her husband, you know."

"He's witty," Priscilla remarked quietly to no one in particular.

Boudicca ignored her. "That, of course, is more to the point. Now, I can fully understand your desperation in trying to find a suitable husband for Olivier, but surely, you could have been a little more discriminating."

"It was not our decision to make," Sophia replied. "And while we were surprised—not at the fact that Shua was Ishvalan but the fact that Olivier was getting married at all—we were certainly not put out. We were already acquainted with the gentleman. We met him during our Xingese sojourn. He was quite the favorite at the Imperial court."

"As what? The court jester?" Boudicca remarked with acerbity.

That wasn't too far off, Sophia considered, but she knew that Boudicca did not make the remark out of good humor. She tried very hard to come up with a suitably cutting yet tasteful rejoinder, but Boudicca went on.

"He's after your money. You may depend on it. Why you can't see that for yourselves is quite beyond me."

This time Sophia was goaded enough to forgo propriety and opened her mouth to snap at her sister-in-law, but Phillip spoke up first.

"Do you know something, Boudicca," he said with quiet gravity. "I'm well aware that you and Ham take me for a fool. Whenever I come to visit I feel as though I'm being tolerated rather than welcomed."

Boudicca gave him an odd look, as though he had veered off on an entirely different subject. She let out an impatient huff. "Really, Phillip, that is neither here nor there! You—"

Phillip held up his hand. "Let me finish. You asked us why we brought Shua here. Yes, Olivier brought him, but I particularly wanted him to come because I'm very proud of him and I wanted to show him off. I like him rather a lot for several reasons, but most of all because he likes me. It has absolutely nothing to do with my money. He's done quite well for himself and hasn't approached me for one red cenz. He likes me just for me. That means more to me than I think you could ever understand. What's more, Shua's family likes me, just for me. Aside from Miles, who is a fine officer and a worthy gentleman, I had never really met any Ishvalans before. I have since found them to be charming, hospitable, generous, and friendly, which, I'm afraid, is rather more than can be said for either you or Hamilcar."

Phillip set down the ace of spades that he had apparently been holding on to, which won him and Sophia yet another trick. "So," he concluded, "if you can't learn by that sort of example, well, all I can say is, it's your loss."

Sophia smiled to herself, her heart swelling with pride and affection. She slipped off her shoe and slid her foot forward under the table to rub her toes against Phillip's ankle. He raised an eyebrow at her and breathed a quiet little ooh sound.

Boudicca's irritation seemed to battle with itself between losing the trick and Phillip's speech. "Well!" she pronounced after a moment. "I never!"

Phillip smiled at her indulgently. "No, I didn't think so."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It was as though there were two entirely different parties going on at dinner that evening. Up at the head of the table, Boudicca presided over her daughters, their husbands, and the friends she had invited. They complained mostly, made remarks about the current state of the nation, and generally criticized anyone who was not them.

Bordering this group was Hamilcar, who was disinclined to talk to anyone. He was hemmed in by the Armstrong-Zimmermans, who didn't talk much at all and seemed to have a system of silent communication with each other. Filetta, placed across the table and down a seat from her husband, ignored him completely, her interest being absorbed by the other end of the table. Rupert occupied his spot in morose silence, still sporting a neat round bruise in the middle of his forehead. Iggy sat across from him and made enough noise for the both of them.

The other end of the table was festive and unabashedly jovial. Phillip and Shua tried to outdo each other in telling rambling, outlandish stories of their respective adventures. Shua's were a bit more far flung and exotic, but Phillip had him beat in the rambling department.

They paid little heed to those sitting at the head of the table. Boudicca cast a number of irritated glances at Phillip, of which he was completely oblivious. She even snapped at one of her sons-in-law, who was distracted by the merriment at the other end.

Between the roast squab and the asparagus vinaigrette, Shua retrieved his Ishvalan fiddle from the under-butler to whom he had entrusted it along with his lute (he would not have trusted Aldridge to not toss them in the trash). His end of the table quieted down to listen while he played a slow, haunting tune. He then switched to the lute and accompanied himself in a song with rapid, skipping lyrics. While his listeners applauded, Boudicca looked on dourly. By this time she had utterly lost the attention of her daughters, their husbands, and her friends.

Things died down a little over the pate de foie gras and celery, until Catherine, who had been giggling and blushing and sharing whispers with Galahad, stood up and announced that she had accepted his proposal of marriage. This was met with cheers, applause, toastings, and a few happy tears from the proud parents.

After dinner, the ladies retired for coffee and the men went off for brandy and cigars. Sophia would normally have insisted that Olivier join the ladies, but she was feeling pleasantly snarky and waved her daughter off to partake of Boudicca's stock of Aerugan Calvados and Cretan Siglos. Several of the gentlemen stared at her, somewhat scandalized, but Olivier was used it and could not have cared less. Her father poured a good sized lashing of brandy into his daughter's glass.

"This is decent stuff," he observed. "Quite as good as what I managed to get a hold of last year. Lively and pugnacious." He chuckled. "Rather like you, my dear!"

Olivier smiled at him. "That's very sweet, Father. Thank you."

"Do you know, I rather think poor old Ham is going to burst a blood vessel," he murmured.

Olivier glanced across the room at her uncle, who was glaring back at their group. "Do you think you'd be able to tell the difference?"

Phillip let out another chuckle, but then gave a little sigh. "I don't know. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that he turned out to be such a pompous ass." He frowned into his snifter. "My father certainly was. I wish things could have been different."

Shua patted Phillip on the back. "You did what you could, Phil. I wish I'd had a brother like you, but I'm more than happy to settle for being your son-in-law."

Phillip smiled and raised his glass. "I thank you, my lad! I'm rather happy about it myself."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

The room had become stuffy and full of smoke, so Shua and Olivier retreated outside to the veranda. A sliver of a moon hung in the sky over the silent estate.

Shua put his arm around Olivier's shoulders. "Sweet Ishvala, what a day!"

"One that I am so glad is nearly over!" Olivier added. "I sure hope you don't want to hang around too much longer. I'm seriously funned out."

"No, I'm pretty much done with polite society," Shua agreed. "I'm looking forward to going back to being a person of low origin. We'll slip out through the service entrance." He winked as Olivier rolled her eyes. "Just the same, I'm glad we came. The food was good."

Olivier reached over and patted his stomach. "You do tend to think with your stomach sometimes."

"Comes from when I couldn't be sure when my next meal was going to be." Shua set down his brandy snifter and pulled her into his arms. "I'm also looking forward to getting you to myself."

"Yes," Olivier said, a little dryly. "Now that you're not wandering around my aunt's estate chatting up other women."

Shua laughed softly. "Now, Ollie, you spend day after day up at your fort surrounded by men who harbor all kinds of fantasies about you. Miles told me so."

Olivier let out a snort. "I already knew that!" she countered. "I thumped it out of Buccaneer years ago, the poor bastard." She scowled. "Miles had no business telling you anything."

"Ah, now, Ollie, you do the man an injustice," Shua chided her. "He gave no details and I didn't ask for any. He was just impressing on me what a lucky fellow all your men think I am." He tilted her chin up and kissed her. "But I already knew that."

Olivier smiled up at him. "Even with my crazy family?"

Shua laughed. "Even with your crazy family, who're no crazier than mine."

"It's a different kind of crazy," Olivier said. "And I'd take it over this one any day," she added, jerking her head toward her aunt's mansion.

"I'm sure they'll be pleased to hear that." Shua let out a contented sigh. "I'd like to be able to squeeze in a visit with them before I have to get back."

"You are going to see them," Olivier said. "We're going out to Resembool in a week, remember?"

Shua looked at her blankly. "What in Ishvala's name do I want to go to Resembool for? Neville's down south visiting his wife's family, unless he was lying to everybody."

"Who the hell is Neville?"

"The MP for Resembool. So why are we going there?"

Olivier let out a weary breath. "We're going to a wedding. Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell."

"Do I know these people?"

"No, but you will. Shua, I told you about this a couple of months ago! I told your secretary, too."

"Oh. Is that what that little pest was going on about? Sorry, sweetheart!" Shua grinned without the slightest display of remorse. "You're such a distraction, you put it right out of my head."

Rather than threaten to put him right out of his head, which was on the tip of her tongue, Olivier succumbed to an embarrassingly frivolous sense of contentment. For a few minutes at least, she stopped worrying about her more intolerable relatives or even about how Fort Briggs was getting on without her. For the moment she simply enjoyed the fact that she was one of two people who were both pretty lucky.


End file.
